


Twins

by holmes221b



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, Gen, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 23:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19187566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmes221b/pseuds/holmes221b
Summary: Clint goes on what should be a straightforward mission, but then his drink tastes funny...





	Twins

Clint stared at the file in front of him.  
“Coulson, you know as well as I do that there’s no way to get close enough to this guy to plant a bug.”  
Coulson placed a second file down in front of the archer.  
“He has a daughter, Barton,” the agent replied, “You could get close to her.”  
Clint picked up the new file and skimmed thru it.  
“You got a copy of her dating profile from Tinder…oh good, she only wants to date actual, real life vampires.”  
“Shouldn’t be too hard for you convince her you’re a vampire, isn’t that something you did at the circus?”  
“Only for the Halloween shows, and I was always Van Helsing’s assistant, anyways. Or collecting tickets.”  
“Whatever. The plan is to get close enough to her that she takes you home to meet the parents, at which point you will plant a bug as close as you can to Markovetch.”  
“Which requires me to convince her I’m a vampire? Why can’t I just look pretty?”  
“That alone might not work. Miss Markovetch apparently likes pretty men with fangs and sparkles.”  
Clint sighed and stood up.  
“Sooner I get started the sooner the pain will end.”  
“It won’t be that bad,” Coulson assured him.  
~*~  
Clint walked into the bar, looking for the dark hair woman pictured in the tinder profile. He found her seated in a booth near the rear of the bar—where it was quieter.  
“Hi, are you Margaret Markovetch?” he asked.  
“Clint Barris?” the woman asked.  
“Yep, that’s me.”  
“Are you really a vampire?” Margaret asked. “I get a lot of guys pretending to be vampires sending me requests.”  
“You are the one who offered to meet in person,” Clint pointed out. “If you didn’t think I was genuine, why meet with me?”  
Margaret nodded.   
“Fair enough,” she acknowledged.  
Clint sat down in the booth across from her.  
“So, why the interest in vampires?” he asked. “You aren’t a vampire hunter, are you?”  
“If you thought I might be a hunter, why did you accept my invite?” she countered.  
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, few hunters are strong enough to be much of a threat.”  
A waitress came over with two glasses of some clear liquid and placed them on the table.  
“I took the liberty of ordering vodka for both of us,” Margaret explained. “I didn’t know if you drank, but…”  
Clint picked up the glass that had been set in front of him and took a sip.  
“This doesn’t taste right,” he noted with mild disgust. This vodka tasted like someone had added maple syrup to it.  
Margaret chuckled.  
“You’ve never been here before, have you? They add maple syrup to the vodka here. It’s their ‘thing’.”  
“It’s a terrible idea, how are they still in business?” Clint asked, taking another sip of the maple syrup-spiked vodka. It seemed less terrible with every sip.  
“Some people like the novelty, I guess,” Margaret shrugged. “When I inherited the place, all the regulars insisted I continue the tradition.”  
“Wait, you own this bar?” Clint asked. He was genuinely surprised. His briefing didn’t mention this detail.  
“Yeah, it used to belong to my mother,” Margaret replied. “It’s been in her family for several generations.”  
“And they have been adding maple syrup to vodka all that time?” Clint was a little surprised to note that he finished his glass.  
Margaret chuckled.   
Clint blinked. He felt really light-headed and dizzy all of a sudden.  
He opened his mouth to ask what else was in it when everything went black.  
~*~  
Natasha woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She reached for it without getting out from under her blankets.  
She glanced at the screen before picking it up.  
“Agent Coulson, why are you calling me at two in the morning?” she asked.  
“Barton’s in trouble.”  
Natasha sat up.  
“What do you need me to do?” she demanded.  
~*~  
Natasha led the small group of agents in a raid on the small apartment building where Clint was being held captive.  
It been a matter of minutes for the former Red Room operative to interrogate the Markovetch hireling to discover that Margaret Markovetch was not only the actual head of the Markovetch family smuggling ring, but also aware of Clint’s real identity.  
Natasha was focused on her task of getting Clint out, and she had no mercy for any who dared stand in her way.  
She kicked in the door to the room where Clint was so hard it came off its hinges.  
Clint was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his head tilted to one side.  
Margaret stood beside him, an empty syringe in one hand.  
“Ah, the Black Widow,” she observed with more boldness than wisdom. “Have you come for the agent?”  
Natasha marched up to Margaret and punched her in the face, knocking the other woman out with one hit.  
“Hi, Nat,” Clint slurred, bringing his head up so he was sitting up in the chair. “Did you come to save me?”  
“Why am I always rescuing you, Barton?” she asked.  
“We take turns, like the twins that we are,” Clint assured her.  
“Twins?” Natasha asked, confused, as she cut the ropes tied around his wrists and ankles.  
“We’re both assassins, and we have special weapons that go with our c-c-super special names,” Clint explained. “’Sides, we like each other like family. So twins. Twin ass—ass—assassins.”  
Natasha went from super assassin to amused coworker in seconds when it came to Clint when he was drugged or drunk.  
“Sure, Clint, we’re twins,” she humored him. “It’s time to leave.”  
“The mean lady is not coming with us, right? I don’t want her to come.”  
“Don’t worry,” Natasha assured him as she helped the archer to his feet and helped him out the door. “She’s not coming with us.”


End file.
